Griffin's Walk: Interruptions
by anesor
Summary: Dragon Age - short ficlet in the AMT universe with Grey Wardens Cousland and Alistair. Alistair and Attryne are hunting a fugitive as winter sets in. After an old corpse is found in their bedroom and the innkeeper dies suddenly, which death is more urgent?
1. Interruptions

_The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. Some characters may be my creations. I get no money for writing this. - THIS CHAPTER WAS ORIGINALLY PART OF GRIFFIN'S WALK, BUT SPLIT OUT FOR OTHER WARDENS LATER -  
_

_- x x -_

**Imperial Highway, near West Hill**

**Warden Trinna Cousland -**

Our ship from Antiva docked just before winter set in. It had been easy to forget in sunny and hot Antiva that winter arrived so much sooner here at home. Satinalia would arrive before we could make the overland travel through the cold and snow back to Highever.

Fergus' children would be disappointed, but my responsibilities were not those of an aunt right now.

Alistair and I planned to visit the ports along the Waking Sea seeking rumors and contacting those I knew in the region. We didn't have enough winter gear with us to hunt for long. If we pushed hard, I should be able to visit in a month or so and get more gear

We could travel only a quarter of summer distances in the blowing snow on the highway's bed. The rising smoke from chimneys ahead promised us a warm place to sleep. If we were lucky, we'd have our own private room at the inn, instead of sleeping in the common room.

Night fell before we arrived, wet and cold. The barn was little more than a sagging shed, but enough for our hardy steeds. I didn't see an ostler or stable-girl, but we fed the horses before we staggered to the inn itself. Alistair broke the path through the snow and Mouser followed me. I was beginning to shiver as the winds picked up. The signboard waved and squeaked in the rising wind, but I couldn't read it in the dark.

The innkeeper tried to encourage us to sleep in the common room with the handful of others stranded. He seemed regretful we couldn't order a hot bath in our room, too. Alistair took one look at me, shivering, as the melting snow dripped on Mouser and the floor in the warmth. Alistair marched the innkeeper towards the worn steps until he admitted there was a small room tucked up under the roof.

I wanted out of my wet armor and padding. Just about any room would better than sleeping among the vermin I thought I saw in the straw on the floor. Not that watching the rarity of Alistair be intimidating wasn't entertaining, too.

The room was small and there was hoarfrost on the ceiling, but Alistair browbeat the man for fuel for the very small fireplace. Soon a smokey fire was burning away and I finished stripping off my wet padding and laying it over the locked and dusty chests around the room.

It was clear why they hadn't wanted to rent us the room; it was a rarely used room with dust and some cobwebs at the edges. Also clear in the firelight were Alistair's chest muscles as he tried to get his trews off over his boots. He was so entertaining when he was in a hurry. I never tired of the planes and curves of his skin in the firelight. We started that way.

Mouser barked quietly, warning me there was some subtle danger.

I patted his head. "Find it, boy."

Alistair froze, and looked at us suspiciously, kicking off his boots and I could hear stitches break as Mouser went over to the alcove.

I hoped he wasn't about to find any rats. Mouser's name came from my sense of humor and how fond he was of killing rats when he was a pup.

He nosed chests and crates aside a bit, seeking whatever he smelled.

I heard something fall and hit something metal.

That was not normal.

Alistair handed me a dagger, and he had one at hand as we waited for the rat to try to run out and away from that corner.

What rose from that corner was a rank odor, corrupted, and probably dead. I grabbed the wood bucket and dumped the wood out so I could retch. Not much as we hadn't eaten since mid-day.

Alistair had a stronger stomach and opened the tiny window.

I patted Mouser's head and scratched at his ears.

Before we went any further, we dressed in spare dirty clothing and bright armor that made hiding anywhere but a Grey Warden wake difficult. Armed again in perceived authority, we moved the chests, pausing only to gag.

Moving into the alcove, which was larger than it appeared. There was a metal bath with dried blood and other stains. The body seemed mostly dried out. What was once an arm had fallen beside the tub. Around, and partly under the desiccated arm was a set of extra nails or claws that looked like they were made of gold. One of the gold fingernails hadn't fallen off.

Mouser looked uneasy, though proud at what he'd found.

I was tired already and looked at Alistair. I don't know who was the Bann over this area and this was just another delay in hunting for the fugitives. I was both charged with vigilance as a Grey Warden and duty as an Arlessa sworn to the crown. This farm was not in my official duties for either. We were going to piss off the First Warden again, but I was not going to ignore this.

Whoever could afford false gold fingernails should not have disappeared, but the cloth and his or her appearance was almost impossible to identify. We had to investigate... even if this was not how I planned to spend the next few hours.

Alistair looked frustrated too and raked his fingers back from his forehead. "That's just not right."

_- x -_

_A/N: __This story was inspired by the monthly prompt set: word=warmth, phrase='That's not just right,'__Elements=motel room, set of false fingernails, and blood. Some were tweaked for setting. __Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated._


	2. Investigation

_The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. Some characters may be my creations. I get no money for writing this sequel. _

_- x x -_

**Imperial Highway, near West Hill**

**Warden Alistair MacTheirin -**

The firelight flickered over Trinna's armor in the crowded attic bedroom as she put it on again with a shiver. I really would rather spend Satanalia tucked in at the Vigil, even with the loss in privacy with all the other Grey Wardens. But the first reports from Howe in Kirkwall raised more alarms that it settled. A cheery letter from Zevran full of nuance and rumor didn't help much either.

Trinna had been hard to read. It was times like this that the difference in our upbringing loomed over me despite the years since our Joining. She was still a Teyrn's heir, schooled in politics, duty, and leadership and I... I was still a bastard son raised in stable and Chantry. A king's bastard, but that hadn't made the straw any softer.

She had been raised to rule, even if her nascent combat training became life and death for all the surface during the Blight. This might not be her domain, this might not be darkspawn and approved by our superiors, but disapproval was as likely to make her stop as a Tevinter Magister becoming a ditch-digger.

I looked at her mabari as I buckled my chest-piece on, but it wasn't his fault. Mouser probably smelled the corpse when we entered the inn.

Not that I liked the idea of sharing our room with a corpse.

When she was done, I swooped down for a taste of her lips before duty. I wanted at least a nibble to tide me over. The entire attic shifted and creaked as a wind-gust hit, and she locked her arms around my neck.

The door on the other side of her back was pounded. "Wardens! I'm sorry to wake you, but..."

I couldn't see much of Trinna's expression, but I knew that look and leaned against her for another kiss.

A moment or two wasn't changing anything.

The door shook with the pounding and I was still annoyed my plans were interrupted. I kicked the door. "What do you want? We're busy."

I could almost hear the gulp from the other side of the door, with him imagining things far more racy than what we were doing.

Trinna grinned. She thumped the door for good measure. "The inn burning?"

The stammered answer wasn't very clear, but Trinna whispered in my ear. "Maybe we can find out more before we claim official business."

I wasn't sure we could unless we decided to conscript a killer.

Mouser was already on the bed and I told him to guard the room. Trinna must have confirmed the order as Mouser dropped off with a sigh and came over to take a guard position to the side of the door.

When the door swung open, the innkeeper looked worried. He bowed and said apologetically, "I'm sorry Wardens. This room has... problems with drafts and smokey fires later at night. We will make another room available for your use, free of charge, for the inconvenience."

At that, Trinna affected a noblewoman's bored leer. "We're had no smoke problems and I don't think we will be sleeping much. He is a Grey Warden, you know."

I flushed. "I'm sure... what is your name again? I'm sure Barr isn't really interested in all that."

Barr was sweating. He hadn't earlier when he gave us the room. I wasn't sure if he looked into the room or toward the alcove.

Trinna hauled the innkeeper across the threshold. "We don't smell any extra smoke..."

She was stronger than she looked and between us, we dragged him past the now visible bathtub and the corpse.

His head turned to try to look behind him and he skidded as his resistance ended. "Oh, Maker!"

"Who is your liege?" Trinna demanded with a snap to her voice.

"Bann Franderel, of West Hill. I'm s.. s.. sorry, Ser." He wasn't breathing well.

When I looked at Trinna, she nodded and said, "Then as agents representing Teyrn Fergus Cousland, we are taking charge of this inn, Barr."

Barr greeted this by slumping into a faint.

As soon as he was lying on the floor I had speak. "That didn't help."

"He's not guilty, even if someone he spoke to knows more. Do you want to wait until he wakes?"

I shook my head. Finishing this meant we could get to sleep.

"Keep him here, Mouser." The mabari's bark carried across a battle, but waking the other people here wasn't a bad idea.

We moved downstairs, looking for the rooms allotted for staff and soon we had a small staff of a young cook, maids, and odd jobs who kept the stable when there were horses. All were younger than Trinna and I, and they had simple and worn clothing. All looked frightened.

The red-haired maid asked, "What happened to Barr, Sers?"

"He is under guard. What I want to know is how how many people are here and how many have never been here before this storm...?" Trinna was the Warden Commander, now. No humor or compassion were in her voice.

I heard a deep bark and then a loud howl and Trinna took off at a run.

Charging into the room, Mouser was fine but a pool of blood was spreading around Barr and a small knife was deep in his throat.

We couldn't save him with poultices in those seconds.

An innocent man died.

_- x -_

_A/N: __Challenge words are nuance, nascent, and nibble. __Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated._


	3. Interrogation

_The Dragon Age world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to Bioware. Some characters may be my creations. I get no money for writing this story. _

_- x x -_

**_The Pilgrim's Cask_, near West Hill**

**Warden Commander Attryne Cousland -**

Mouser hung his head and I comforted him with some head-scratches. Anyone he'd met before that was suicidal, tried to die in bloody battle. "It's not your fault, boy. You couldn't stop him."

Alistair found something on the table. "Barr left an apology."

"Did he say why?"

"Something about abuse and deserving to die." Alistair sounded angrier.

"Nothing else?" That was a paltry excuse of an explanation. I was convinced that was deliberate.

He scanned the paper again. "Nothing. It's only a dozen words and the apology. Here."

My pity for Barr increased. The strained writing was nearly illegible. _"She deserved to die. She made others her playthings. No way out. I'm sorry."_

Alistair's voice was grim. "He knew something, but he didn't know the body was here."

"He was protecting someone else."

No one bothered us yet, a testament to the Grey Warden reputation, or the lateness of the hour. I took another look at the dried out corpse. I knew charnel stench from battle and darkspawn, but this seemed unnaturally mild now.

Both bodies should be given to Andraste's flames. The Maker already judged them, but anyone who cared for them deserved that mercy. The murderer, though, might be another story.

Locking the door seemed enough to prevent interference, so I brought Mouser with us. A massive mabari with full collar and kaddis could make any brash over-confidence plummet into silence.

Most of the guests slept through events so far, or they were hiding in warm beds like I wished we were. I'd sent Alistair to keep watch in the common room.

The Vigil taught me all about logistics so I went to Barr's work area in the cellar between the casks of ale and stacked apples. I went through the locked desk and quickly stripped it of ledgers, inventories, and a few letters. After squinting for too long, I gathered the stack of material and climbed the stairs.

The storm was still blowing, and it looked like few decided to leave the warmth of their beds. I found Alistair examining the guest book while the common guests broke their fast.

Alistair made room at the corner table for me. He'd ordered no food; our Warden appetites might be a problem soon. "There are eleven rooms with guests, aside from ours, which doesn't get guests very often. Actually, the first time it did, was a year or so after the Blight. Rarely are more than six of the rooms in use. Most of the names in tonight's list haven't repeated in the last nine months or so that I've studied." He paused. "How far back should I go?"

I leaned closer to kiss his brow. "That should be enough, my fine turtle. Who repeated?"

"Room four. Hamund Nelly passes through every week or two on unspecified business. Others do too, but they aren't here. No other customers have been here before, like us."

That name rang a bell from some old lesson, but the other twenty or thirty guests couldn't have killed the woman. "That narrows it to Nelly and the staff."

Alistair's stomach rumbled and he made a face as he snapped the book shut. "Twenty-nine cleared and five to go, but not the cook."

I touched his arm. I was hungry too. "If you think this is too paranoid..."

"No, pet. Zevran's advice about poison is much easier to follow when he's not present and flirting."

"Barr and his wife purchased this fine establishment almost ten years before the Blight. Their daughter was heir, until her name just disappeared around Ostagar, and the ledger changed hands for a while. Her well worn letter doesn't say much, other than another's addition that she died."

"Who inherits?" Alistair's ambivalence was clear.

"There is a younger son and a niece or cousin, both work here. Barr was hoping they might make a match of it and keep the inn going, but the boy's interested in the other maid. The cook was hired this summer before Barr's wife died." Then _my_ stomach growled.

We visited the kitchen, and Pyley was the oldest of the staff, maybe twenty-five. I didn't want to think about how greasy he was. We took him to a storage room, leaving the red-head in charge of the kitchen.

Even with two Wardens standing over him, he lounged on the bench spread out on display, the cocky little bastard. He must not have been old enough or close enough to the Blight to be afraid. Some ale-head 'general' taught him well... or ill.

I needed his attention and respect. "We're investigating two deaths, show some respect! I don't give a shit what your Teyrn thinks about _**how**_ I do it."

He swallowed that exaggeration without a whimper. The staff didn't know _which_ Warden I was.

Time to scare the little prick. I reached down and lifted him up at the neck, his feet dangling and arms flailing without any force. "_**I kill demons and darkspawn**_. I'm hunting a murderer. Do not stand in my way."

He hiccuped and looked at Alistair as if for help. Alistair just stood there with the slightest of smiles.

I held him up, much easier with the best runes.

He tried to sound tough. "I didn't do it. You want Marget, she practically runs the inn. Heard Barr's wife was cook, but she was sick when I was hired."

Pyley said more, but not much useful. He didn't think much of the other maid or the stableboy, other than a touch of jealousy. He wasn't close to Barr and thought he was the victim. Pyley didn't think beyond food and his crotch, and he tried to shield himself when I set him down.

I heard a choking sound of a smothered laugh from Alistair, and he quickly left. When he came back with a stewpot later, Pyley'd told me all I thought I'd get, for now.

_- x -_

_A/N: __Challenge words are __paltry, paranoid, __and __plummet. __Thanks to my beta reader who has been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated._


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